Going Forward
by Conelrad
Summary: Desmond POV reactions to the events of Through the Looking Glass. MASSIVE SPOILERS. Much angst.


Author's Note: This story _should_ have lyrics for Marillion's _Ocean Cloud_ all through it. That version will eventually be available elsewhere, but since is not fond of stories-with-songs, it's not here. Also, I loved the finale. I loved the emotional overtones. If you did not like the finale – or are one of the people freaking out about the events of said finale – please don't leave reviews arguing all the points that could have been different. There are places for that. This is my memorial, and thus not the place.

_Requisat in pace, _

_et lux eterna dona est, _

_domine._

Warnings: Canon _Through the Looking Glass _angst. Spoilers for season three, episode 21. Angst. Disjointed POV. Did I mention angst?

Going Forward

Ozymandius Jones

The sound of the water hurts. It's so very soft…and yet so very loud. Water's a gentle sound…usually….but now it only serves to remind me of the night I was lost. The night I came here. The night I – for all extent to the outside world – _died_. I hate it.

I want it to stop so I can hear something else. Anything else…

I heard her voice. For the first time in so very long, I heard her voice. And Charlie's voice, calling for me. Calling me back…calling me…

Now they're gone. Again. Charlie was my hope that I could change…something. Anything. That Fate wasn't certain; that the future wasn't set in stone. My hope was taken. Drowned. Right in front of me like he had so many times before, because of that…_man_.

That _man _that I…I let go. Last week, in the jungle…_I let him go_. I shouted them down, told them it was a matter of honor. A matter of my word…and…_I let him go. _But…now…thoughts go running through my mind…

What good is the honor of a coward? What good is the word of a man who always runs? Always finds a way out…

If I hadn't let him go, maybe Charlie would still be alive. Or, maybe, that woman would have killed him before he could…maybe he would have died earlier…but…He turned it off. They can find us now. But the one image in my mind – the message he died to tell me – _not Penny's boat_. Who are _they_? Who else is looking for this place? Who else has come for us? What happens now to our plan…

This plan – Jack's plan, the plan with the radio tower, and the dynamite, and the switch and this damned hatch – it all depended on that _boat_ being our rescue. It all hinged on that _boat_ being what Naomi says it is.

And we wouldn't even have _found_ Naomi if it weren't for those _flashes._ Oh, how I hate them. With every _fiber_ of my _being_. I can't sleep…or I couldn't…for fear of what I would see…_Will I even get them, anymore?_

They're going to hate me. Hurley. Claire. The little one, Aaron…Charlie's friends and loved ones…I promised them he'd be safe. I promised them I'd protect him. I saved his life…time and time again…only to have him die to tell us our rescue was not a rescue. That we had – indeed – been betrayed…

All the elements of that betrayal…I brought them all. Naomi and her helicopter and her phone and her promise of boats. This hatch – this bloody evil godforsaken twisted version of a child's story – it's my fault too. The wire, the light – that blasted light – I saw it all. I was the conductor. I…I'm…I'm…

I'm surrounded by bodies. The women – I only heard the name Bonnie before he shot her. The other woman, I don't know a name to call her. But they're here. Dead. Very dead. There's blood trailing from where I…I shot that madman with the eyepatch, how could he have _survived_? Those spears aren't small. I didn't miss. It went through his bloody _sternum_ for God's sake, how did he live long enough to…

I don't even want to know. I guess I did miss. He survived. Survived long enough to get outside. Long enough to blow that porthole…long enough to kill Charlie...long enough to kill my hopes that the futures I see are avoidable. Long enough to show me…I can't fight Fate and win.

Mrs. Hawking was right. "The Universe has a way of course correcting," whether it involves wiping out men with red shoes or cheerful little Brits who smile like the sun…

…

Right now, I wish it would course correct me out of existence. I'll be living this moment for the rest of my life…trying to get to the door before Charlie slams it in my face; before Mikhail the one-eyed-freak-of-a-Russian pulls that pin. He knew what he was doing. He knew what was going to happen. He knew…because I told him. I told him he would drown. I just…missed the bits in the middle.

I have to go back. I have to warn them. It's not a rescue. It can't be. I couldn't take it if it was – if it is a rescue, Charlie died for nothing. All the thoughts going through my head right now…Why didn't he shut the door out here? Why didn't he swim? Why didn't he do something – _anything_ – before dying in front of me _yet again_, a living version of my nightmares ever since I turned the key?

Only…this time for real.

I can't wrap my brain around that.

He's _gone_. He _died_ because of _me. _He died _for_ me.

Which means I have to stop being a coward. I have to stop running…I have to go back.

_Please_. Let me go _back_. Let me _fix_ it…

I've begged this before. I know I have. It didn't do any good then, and it won't do any good now.

So maybe…it's not _back_ I need to go.

Maybe…

It's forward.


End file.
